Lead
by foxtoast
Summary: Patrick drops in on Kat with an unexpected confession, forcing another step in the choreography of their growing relationship. Kat/Patrick.


The distinct rustling of bushes immediately outside her open window made Kat jump and spin around in her desk chair.

"What are you doing?!" She hissed at the familiar face that had just shadowed her window without warning or invitation.

He shrugged. "Just dropping by."

She wondered if his dogged nonchalance was strictly innate or if he exaggerated it merely because he enjoyed its effect on her.

"My dad will _kill _you if he finds you here."

"Then it's a good thing Bianca told me earlier that your dad was expected to be in the delivery ward all evening."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're talking to my sister now?"

"Of course," he smirked. "She's full of interesting information. And she sure likes to talk a lot."

The glare held, but she refused to take the bait. "And you couldn't use the front door like a normal person?" She said instead.

"This is more fun," he replied, cocking his head to one side and tugging the corners of his lips into an even wider smile, aggravating and endearing at the same time.

Kat's face had fixed itself into an expression that could desublimate vapor.

"Come on, I know that look is just for show. Will you let me in now?" The fact that it was a question rather than a demand belied his uncertainty.

Kat complied, stepping to the side and sweeping her arm, miming a formal invitation to enter.

"Thank you," he replied with the same obsequious tone her motion implied.

"But you can't stay long," she added, before his feet had even hit the carpet. "I have a science test tomorrow."

"I could help you study."

"Is that a trendy new euphemism for some sort of obscene sex act? Because I can't imagine actually _studying _with you would be all that productive."

Patrick's hand leapt to his heart in imagined injury. "I'm hurt, Kat. I happen to be very good at chemistry." He could not help himself as his right hand moved to brush an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"Now I _know_ that's a line," she replied, brushing his hand away, though mentally she did allow that he had a unique way of making implied lewdness seem almost innocent and enticing.

"Fine, then—physics? Bodies in motion?"

"Ew," she shot back, her nose scrunching up. "The only bodily motion you'd have to worry about would be the motion of my body throwing up on you."

"Really so eager for a repeat of Bianca's party? You know you don't have to get wasted just to admit you want to kiss me."

She scowled at the memory. (Well, "memory" was perhaps the wrong word, since she was missing all the time between the heady rush of leading her classmates in a rousing chat for the naked mole rats and waking up to what felt like a railroad spike being cruelly pounded into her head behind her right eyeball, but she was certain she didn't want to relive whatever she couldn't remember in between those events.) Patrick watched her out of the corner of his eye—a subtle move she all but missed as she leaned a shoulder against the wall, coolly trying to put distance between them without betraying the fact that her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of kissing him.

Patrick ambled a few feet to her bookshelf. With an air of practiced indifference, he danced the tips of his fingers across the spines. "Arendt, Mohanty, Beauvoir, MacKinnon," he read off leisurely, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Kat crossed her arms. "Like you're surprised?"

"No, not at all." He paused. "Though this is a little surprising—_A Little Princess_? _Little Women? Anne of Green Gables?_" He slid the last book out of its place on the shelf and held it up with a wry smile. "Isn't that the one where the girl falls for the guy but is too stubborn to admit it? I think I've read that one."

"Give me that." She made a sour face and grabbed for the book. He pulled it just out of reach and she slumped back, unwilling to fight him for it.

"It's okay, Kat. I've always known that under _The_ _Feminine Mystique _you're really just a girl who desperately wants to be loved. Just like Anne." Sarcasm oozed from his words, but Kat couldn't help but notice the way his lips looked as he enunciated each syllable with exaggerated emotion.

Kat blanched just enough to be perceived and he leaned in, smirk spreading into a hungry, wolfish smile. "Hit a nerve?"

"You don't know the first thing about me," she snapped, and took the opportunity to lunge at the book he had let drift a little closer to her. She made contact, held fast, refused to let him know how much he could get to her sometimes.

With a sharp jerk, he pulled his arm back, the unexpected movement causing Kat to stumble forward awkwardly.

"Oh really?" He drawled, ignoring the way she dug her free elbow into his ribs to keep from pressing against him. "I know you keep a photo from your mother's college graduation ceremony in your locker. I know you write poetry in the back of your notebook when you get bored in class. I know that when you're lost in thought you squint your right eye a little and play with the collar of your shirt. I know you like to dip pickles in yogurt—which, by the way, is pretty weird—and I know that I want you more than I've ever wanted anything." His voice was like honey, coating the words with a pleasant, unexpected sweetness.

Kat inhaled sharply. The butterflies that had fluttered into being when he first arrived now beat insistently against the inside of her stomach. For a moment—just a moment—she credited him with an unexpected display of raw vulnerability, but as quickly as the sentiment came to her, it passed: "_I want you_," she reminded herself, was distinctly different from "_I love you._" She had fallen for that once before, foolish and 16 and as secretly eager to be desired as Patrick accused her of being. She would not fall for it again so readily. But even so, she felt a burning flush touch her cheeks and the tips of her ears and fervently hoped that he could not see it from his position above her.

Her own heartbeat roared in her ears as she tried in vain to quiet it enough to respond. "Technically," she started, "that last one is something you know about yourself." Despite her best efforts her voice came out breathier than normal as she addressed his t-shirt.

"Then I know that you know that I want you."

"That's sort of cheating."

"But it's true."

"You're just saying that to get in my pants."

Patrick scoffed; she felt him rumble a little under her forearm and almost gasped when his fingers brushed her shoulder, tentative but purposeful.

"Of course I'm not. I'm saying it because it's true. In fact, I refuse to get in your pants if that's what it takes for you to believe me."

"You _refuse?_" She parroted, pushing both her hands against his chest and craning her head to look up at him.

"Adamantly," he replied. He looked just a little too smug.

"You know you're not very good at reverse psy—"

The half-hearted protest was silenced by the slide of his arm around her back, guiding her up close enough to feel his hot breath ghost over her cheek. He paused, eyes sliding shut for just a moment, as if savoring a thing touched with ineffable perfection. When he blinked his eyes open again, it began almost tenderly, a soft, questioning press of his lips to hers. And she yielded—what else could she do when he plied her with an invitation and a request so irresistible?—benign annoyance causing her to nip his lower lip before gliding the tip of her tongue over the spot.

She was rewarded with a low moan that began in his chest and radiated outward to the tips of his fingers, clutching hungrily at her back. Kat smiled against his mouth, purred almost, pleased with herself. Long ago she had realized that Patrick's body language was always more honest than his words, but the sheer transparency of the way he moved against her as she arched her back and pressed against him was uniquely satisfying. That he did want her physically, at least, was undeniable.

And it was true—he did want her, though if he were honest it was more of a need than a want. She seemed to pull all the air out of the room when she entered, and if he wanted to draw breath he had no choice but to kiss her. And every time he thought himself sated the burning need would strike him again, an irrepressible reflex, and would draw him inevitably back toward her.

A small jolt of disappointment turned in his stomach when she broke the kiss, brushing her lips lightly over the corner of his mouth before glancing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He returned the gaze wordless; she thought she saw an unspoken sentiment expressed in the way he unashamedly fixed on her and the way his eyes brightened. She did not mar the silence with a question. If she were wrong, if she were merely projecting all her hopes and fantasies onto a man who had all but told her this was a futile endeavor, she did not want to know. Not yet. And whatever happened until she found out for sure? Well, sometimes you have to make the same mistakes again before you learn.

Instead, she tilted her head just enough to brush the tip of her nose under his chin, a move he answered by allowing her full access to the warm skin of his neck. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. She pressed a line of kisses along the path from his jaw to his collarbone, just visible above the collar of his shirt. The way he made involuntary, pleasant little noises and stroked the small of her back with the side of his thumb made her eager for more, eager to make him unravel completely under her.

Kat had ceased to rationalize her desires. It was lust and love and admiration laced with urgent arousal, driven to fever pitch by agonizing months of flirtation and near misses. She had been patient enough to wait for the moment to come to her, but was not patient enough to let this one go.

With both hands she pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up enough to expose the soft sculpture of his abdomen. He was warmer than she had expected, hot even, and she ran her palms down his body, savoring the sensation. Her touch made him impatient, and he willed her back up from her ministrations on his neck and claimed her mouth with a demanding kiss. It was Kat's turn to moan into him, the movement providing the perfect opportunity for Patrick's tongue to stroke against hers and pillage her mouth.

She had passed the point of no return, she knew; she wanted this more than she had admitted even to herself. And Patrick—he couldn't kiss her like that and not mean it, certainly? Couldn't kiss her in a way that made her dizzy and exuberant and needy all at once if he didn't feel some of it himself? His thumb continued its maddening, lazy circle on the small of her back. If she didn't feel those hands elsewhere, immediately, she thought she might explode.

But when her fingers looped under the waistband of his jeans, his fingers encircled her wrists, stilling her. She drew back, questioning.

"I told you, I'm not here to get in your pants."

She glared mildly, as if posited a trick question. "These are your pants."

"Fine—everybody stays in their respective pants. Including me."

She eyed him again. "You know, I'm not a virgin." She hoped it sounded less hesitant to him than it did to her own ears.

"Does that matter?" He answered simply.

"If that's what you're worried about—"

"Kat, I want you to trust me as much as I trust you. I want you to believe me when I tell you that I want something more from you." He punctuated the thought by raising a hand and stroking her cheek. "So do it my way just this once and next time I'll let you lead. Promise." He smiled, a genuine, wide smile that touched the corners of his eyes with joy.

She nodded through her haze of arousal, his meaning clear. This was too precious to rush, too long-awaited and too valuable to risk losing when it had only just become a reality.

"Besides, I can think of enough other ways to occupy ourselves until your dad runs me out of here with a pitchfork and a flaming torch."

She smiled now, too, infected with the same honest, open grin. "Yeah? Like what?"

Cradling her head in his hands, he lowered his lips to her mouth and feathering a kiss so light she thought she might have imagined it.

"Like this," he breathed against her skin before seeking another kiss. This one was deep and languid, as if her body were the only thing in the world, and he had an eternity to explore it.

Kat hummed against him, a little vibration of pleasure, and threaded her hands behind his neck. Her whole body thrummed with the sensation; she thought with no small amount of wonder that no one had ever kissed her like that. No kiss had ever even come close to this—the warmth and security, the implied promise of even better things to come. He threaded his fingers through her hair, teasing the back of her neck in a way that made her shiver and—

"Kaaaaat!" Bianca's shout reverberated down the hall, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs.

Kat's eyes snapped open immediately and she nearly coughed in surprised. Patrick looked back at her, wearing the same half-smirk she'd come to expect, like the cat who got the cream personified. He held fast to her shoulders as she pushed against him reflexively.

"Kaaaat! Dad wants us to meet him at the Thai place for dinner in twenty minutes."

"Okay, I'll be down in a few minutes," she called over her shoulder, flustered and flushed a deep shade of crimson.

Patrick extricated himself. "I guess that's my cue."

Kat nodded a little dumbly, heart still racing, listening intently to make sure the sound of footsteps proceeded all the way down the hall, away from her door. She felt suddenly strange and surreal, as if losing his touch meant the whole thing might not have actually happened. By the time she had collected herself enough to speak again, Patrick was already leaning against her windowsill, watching her intently.

She had a thousand things she wanted to say, but for some reason she could not articulate any of her thoughts. "You know," she finally began, "those books—_Anne of Green Gables, Little Women_—my mother read me them to me when I was little." She wasn't sure why she thought of it just then, or why she told him.

"I knew you'd have an excuse," came the fast reply.

Her brow furrowed, and he leaned close enough to steal a kiss and whatever words of argument were threatening to rise from her lips. Then he was gone as quickly and unexpectedly as he had arrived. Kat bit her lip; she was lightheaded with giddiness and delicious anticipation. There would be time enough to pick up where they had left off, for Kat to say whatever it was she wanted to say but hadn't. Tonight had led them to exactly where they need to be. Smiling, she shut her window, picked up her book from where it had fallen on the bed, and slid it back into its spot on the shelf.


End file.
